Racing, Pacing And Plotting The Course
by BeyondCanon
Summary: Faberritana. In Ohio's Lima city limits live the best racers in the Midwest: four girls racing for fun, life, and money, all the while going to the same school.
1. Part I: 01

**Racing and Pacing (And Plotting the Course)**

**Characters**: Rachel Berry; Quinn Fabray; Santana Lopez; Brittany Pierce.

**Note**: This was born out of a prompt, available at my tumblr, beyondcanon. If you haven't seen it, I'd strongly suggest you read it, because it's awesome and totally crack. Also, the title belongs to the Cake song "The Distance".

The story will be divided in two parts. At first, we will see how it all develops to Mustangs and racing and Faberry and Brittana. The second part will be about the present moment, described by the prompt.

Those who follow me on Tumblr have seen this already. This transition to will culminate with the final chapter for Part I.

**Full Summary**: In Ohio's Lima city limits live the four best racers in the Midwest. Racing for fun, life, and money, all the while going to the same school. They also happen to be best friends, though they're more than that to their significant others.

Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray.

Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce.

The four best racers in the Midwest.

**(01) **

**1. Rachel**

They started racing long before they had a license. When your father sells cars – even better, when your father owns Ford franchises all over America – it becomes impressively easy to steal one or two so you can go for a ride. It takes a well-played innocence, the distraction of security personnel, the right passwords and then you're out, engines revving and your best friends laughing as you take the road.

Rachel Berry would know. She started doing that at the tender age of 13, in response to one of Santana's dares. They weren't friends back then. Santana, Brittany and Quinn were the Unholy Trinity, tearing apart anyone who crossed their path, and Rachel was just… Rachel. Another outcast. Tired of insults, of being pushed against the lockers, and of the scrutiny of Quinn's intense look, she did the unthinkable and talked back.

Santana never retreats. Rachel didn't give in. The following Friday, it was done. It was Santana's 14th birthday and she had been dying to drive a nice set of wheels ever since her older brother taught her how to, a month prior. Rachel's father had nice cars, begging to be taken for a ride. It was necessary, the three girls told Rachel. They came up with a plan.

Breaking the law brings people together. Trespassing boundaries unites people with the secret of a shared experience that should be denied. The Unholy Trinity was with her when she executed the plan, sharing the adrenaline rush and the expectation for the turnout. The universe conspired in her favor that day. The car key felt hot in her hands as they walked towards the garage.

She was a good girl, she really was. She just needed to prove she wasn't afraid of anything or anyone. She trusted one of her father's cars in Santana's hands. The four of them looked at each other and silently formed a bond right then and there. When they hit the road and there was nothing but the four of them and Santana could go faster, Rachel felt it wouldn't be their last time.

* * *

It took them several weeks, but they did learn how to drive. Santana took it upon herself to teach them what she knew, and proved to be excellent at it. She was firm and direct and patient, not nearly as insufferable as her Cheerio self. The pedals, the engine, the gears, the hands on the steering wheel and the permanent, multi-focused attention: Santana was born to drive.

Rachel was first, after they all agreed she had special rights since the car technically belonged to her father. It took time. Rachel had to trust Santana, had to take risks and act on instinct. She wasn't very good at doing any.

The first time she successfully drove to the limits of town, they opened a bottle of wine together.

Quinn comes second. Rachel is forbidden to watch, because Quinn does not want witnesses to her every mistake. Brittany and Rachel go to Burt to ask him about different types of cars. He answers with excitement, maybe because his own son is gay and uninterested in anything besides Broadway and fashion. He also keeps his promise of never telling anyone about their visits.

Brittany learns the fastest, to Rachel's surprise. She just knows what to do, without being told. She knows when the curve of the road is appropriate for this or that speed, she knows when it's time to shift gears, and she knows how to get through a busy avenue in the most fluid of motions. Santana has a smug look on her face when she tells them Brittany is ready and they pop open another bottle of wine.

Rachel just turned 14. She is still not used to the wine, and her head feels light. It feels good to have some sort of friends. They toast.

It's the start of something.

* * *

Rachel's parents notice she is out of the house more often. They ask. She answers. There is no need to tell them what exactly the four of them are up to, however. She masks it with descriptions of going out for ice cream, of hanging out at least once a week, telling them how good it is to be around them. It's not a lie.

Their excitement over her making new friends makes her feel like a toddler, but she ignores it. She is far from being a popular kid. She is one of those people who, if lucky, will get one or two best friends and hopefully pass unnoticed enough not be bullied by people like Quinn and Santana.

Except Rachel cannot accept indifference. She needs to be the center of attention, even if it's negative. She wants attention. She wants to make it big someday.

Quinn's blatant rejection is better than being ignored. Quinn's angry remarks, Quinn's cold stare, Quinn calling her names: it's all better than nothing. She doesn't tell her parents about that. She knows they'll jump to conclusions. And Quinn, she's… something else. There is something the girl never tells. Rachel knows it.

She takes Quinn all in. She never second guesses.

* * *

Santana is the one who comes up with the idea first: racing. Driving has become boring. There is nothing new or exciting about getting themselves a car now, after doing it so many times. Santana says they ought to get two. It's a Sunday afternoon and they're at her house by the pool. Rachel tries not to be self-conscious about her own body when she has three gorgeous women around her, but it's hard.

Quinn's skin looks soft. It is the most flawless texture Rachel has ever seen, like a Greek statue, marble as a perfect imitation of the human body. No scars. No stretch marks.

Quinn catches her staring and she looks the other way. She doesn't want to give her the wrong impression.

The Lopez family owns a big, impeccably clean two-story house. There are big glass windows and an advanced security system. When they walk, the sound echoes throughout the house. Nothing makes a sound. Santana is always alone. Her father is a surgeon, the type that goes around the country saving people. Her mother makes herself busy. They live there because the rest of their family lives there: brothers, uncles, cousins, and the legendary grandmother. Why had they chosen that town, decades before, remains a mystery to Rachel.

Brittany agrees with Santana, as usual. Santana is looking at Quinn and Rachel from inside the pool, letting Brittany play with her hair. Quinn says whatever. Rachel remains silent.

Quinn is always indifferent.

Rachel is a good girl, with impeccable grades and pristine behavior. Racing is dangerous and illegal. There are accidents and deaths. They don't have licenses. They could die.

* * *

Life as a teenager in a town like that is, more often than not, boring. It's hot outside, and there is nothing to do and nothing to feel. No one is at the park. Every once in a while a bird sings, or the wind blows on a few leaves and they watch it rustle. Quinn bears an empty look, and Rachel wonders what she is thinking.

She just wants to feel alive, sometimes.

Santana's parents have two cars. They are traveling to someone's wedding. It will do. It's Santana against Brittany first. Rachel's mouth feels dry and she crosses her fingers in her pockets and prays for the best. She looks sideway a few times, to see Quinn's reactions. The girl looks mildly interested, for a change. Brittany wins and does a victory dance when she leaves the car. Quinn smiles. Santana ends up smiling too.

Rachel doesn't know what makes her more nervous: the race or Quinn.

The engine is hot, like everything around them. Rachel looks up to the blue sky before entering the car. She is not ready. But things never happen when you're ready. Brittany yells and off they go, fast enough that they barely hear her giggle in excitement. Rachel drives without conscious thought or intention. It's amazing how much you can internalize after some practice.

Rachel doesn't settle for anything less than winning. Her foot is heavy on the accelerator and she soon hits the kind of speed that would usually make her terrified. But when she leaves Quinn behind and the finish line is so close, she just has to keep at it. She has no fear. She doesn't think about the risks and the dangers. She is on top of her game. She wins.

When she opens the door and gets out of the car, the adrenaline becomes too much and she can barely walk. Santana actually says she wasn't so bad, for a midget. A compliment from Santana is something unheard of in the history of the universe so Rachel nods silently, afraid of what might happen if she says anything.

Quinn just looks at Rachel, but she doesn't understand what it means.

* * *

**02. Quinn**

Quinn hated Rachel. She hated her ridiculous clothes, her perfect voice, and her gigantic nose. The girl was like a basket case begging to be bullied. So Quinn did it. And there was an exquisite pleasure in it, in watching her face right after being thrown against a locker, or having her things thrown on the ground, or being insulted by as many people as possible. It was easy making that happen, being a Cheerio and on top of the food chain. Quinn was a queen.

And she hated Rachel with the heat of a thousand suns.

Things were at their best when Santana and Brittany were around. They held her back, they understood where she was coming from. When they were together, things were… different. There was a connection between them for doing something thrilling and forbidden. There was something soothing in those moments at Burt's car shop, or breaking into their parents' bedroom to steal their car keys, hoping they would never notice how many more miles the odometer would show the next day.

She still hated Rachel Berry, though. She hated her short skirts, she hated her long legs, she hated how her laugh could fill a room, and she hated how the scent of her shampoo would take over everything when the wind blew. She hated how Rachel licked her ice cream cone. She hated how she never talked back when she said anything mean.

And Rachel Berry won their first race.

Quinn can't let many things go. This was just one of them. So she challenged Rachel to more races. Eventually, it became just the two of them. She would do anything, anything to take that smug smile off Rachel's face whenever she was challenged. Quinn wanted to prove Rachel was born to lose.

* * *

Quinn's eyes flare in anger when she sees two jocks picking on Rachel. She looks tiny and defenseless against two huge black football players. She hadn't ordered it. She hadn't planned it. No one goes behind her back as long as she rules those halls, and it was time those boys learned that lesson.

Quinn is possessive. Rachel might be a loser, but she is _her_ loser. No one touches her.

Santana notices it too, and the Unholy Trinity moves in perfect sync to make the brutes clear out of the way. They part like the Red Sea under Moses's command. Quinn chooses the one on the right, Santana takes the one on the left, and Brittany places a hand on Rachel's shoulder solemnly. Santana is absolutely fearless and terrifying, and when she goes on one of her rants she fills a room with her anger and wit.

It's one of the many reasons they are so good together.

Quinn has everything under her fingers, and she makes it clear. She can ruin their practices, she can ruin their tests, she can ruin their future careers. She can poison their foods and change their grades and she knows all there is to know about their wrongdoings. She can take down any student in that ridiculous, mediocre school.

Her tone is cold and she never raises her voice. The entire school learns no one is to touch Rachel. She is their protégé now.

* * *

Quinn breathes in and out, the steering wheel beneath her hands as they take one last moment to pull themselves together. Their tenth race was supposed to mean something. She needed to win. Rachel had won four races and she had won five. Winning was supposed to mean something, even if she couldn't tell what it was yet.

She needed to focus. Rachel was good. She never looked down, she never backed out of a challenge. She was good at complicated tracks, at turns and obstacles. Quinn was better with speed. She could control the car like no other. She could weigh other people's flaws in a heartbeat. It applied to life and it applied to racing. She decided she would go for that one highway, straight as an arrow, at night. There was no way Rachel could win. Nothing could go wrong. Not when she had the perfect track and her father's car.

Her father could never know.

She looked towards Rachel. The girl was focused on the road. She was intense, too intense. Quinn sneered. Rachel's biggest mistake was letting too much show. It was irritating and ridiculous. She should know how to hide everything under the surface. People wouldn't hurt you if they didn't know your weak spots. People should always be guessing, always wondering. No one could take you down if they didn't know how.

It begins. Quinn tries to clear her mind and focus on the road and on the road only, the sound of the engine telling her everything she needs to know. She takes the lead and she almost, almost smiles. She was born to take the lead. She licks her lips anxiously because she isn't really used to driving at night, and the sounds of her father's car tell her she can't push it much further for a while. You must listen to the car. You must respect what it tells you it can or can't do.

Rachel catches up. It can't be possible. Suddenly Rachel is in front of her and she can't pass her. The car is trembling beneath her and she can't even stay by Rachel's side because the bitch is taking the entire highway on purpose.

She loses. They are officially tied: five to five. She hates Rachel. She hates that she's such a worthy opponent. She hates that ridiculous yellow miniskirt she is wearing. She hates everything. They both look at each other breathlessly, until Quinn closes the distance between them. Rachel looks startled and terrified and Quinn hates her so much she can't properly demonstrate. Her body meets Rachel's at once, pinning her against the car. She feels warm.

Quinn kisses her.

No one denies Quinn. Rachel promptly responds. Quinn deepens the kiss hungrily, tongue against Rachel's. Rachel moans, hands sinking into blonde hair, and Quinn feels a type of new and overwhelming desire. She bites, and the second moan she gets goes straight to her crotch. Her hips press against Rachel's.

It's late at night. It's desert around them. It's getting out of hand.

* * *

**03. Brittany**

Brittany gets in the car and puts on her seatbelt. This time, the cars belong to Quinn's father. It's unsettling. Nothing can go wrong when you have one of Mr. Fabray's sweet rides. Santana looks at her from the other car, both hands on the steering wheel, and they nod to each other. They both have their hair up in tight ponytails, not bothering to restyle them after Cheerios practice.

Santana is beautiful.

Brittany looks ahead, to the road in front of them. She is not smart with books and historic dates and geometry. She knows that. Everybody knows that. She heard when her Math teacher told her History teacher he thought she would learn more by skipping class.

She ignores it. She's smart in other ways.

Santana takes off first, tires screeching, and Brittany follows. She loves to drive, and she's great at it. Of the four of them, Brittany was the one who learned the fastest. It takes her 33 seconds to catch up to Santana. She winks and blows her a kiss.

She can't recall the names of all 50 presidents, or how to tell the difference between an egg with a chicken in it and an egg with an egg in it. But she has great peripheral vision and exceptional instincts. She visualizes the road and her surroundings in detail. Her reaction time is faster and more precise than anyone else's.

She notices some things before anyone else, too. The first time she looks at Kurt, she sees past his baseball hat and boy clothes and she knows he suffers because he is gay. The first time she looks at Mercedes, she understands her yearning for acceptance. She looks at Ms. Pillsbury and just knows there is something pathologic about her organizational habits.

She wins by a margin of four seconds.

She exits the car and hugs Santana, hiding her face in her neck and giggling. Santana hugs her back tightly, lifting her off the ground. Santana's perfume is citric and unmistakable. Brittany could recognize it from a mile, for years.

The things Brittany knows remain secret. She doesn't need to share. She looks at Quinn standing next to Rachel and ignoring her majestically, and she knows Quinn is in love.

* * *

The empty bottle of wine on the floor proves they are tipsy.

Brittany giggles, stretched out on Santana's bed. Santana smiles. Santana is beautiful when she smiles. She is at her best when it's just the two of them, when she is neither pressured by her parents to be something else nor scrutinized by the students at their school. Brittany's hand ends up on Santana's stomach.

Brittany's head feels light and dizzy. She loves Mr. Lopez's taste in wine.

Santana always gets touchier when she drinks. Her hands run through Brittany's hair, massaging her scalp until she's purring, eyes closed. She caresses Brittany's skin, slow and determined. She palms Brittany's thigh as her hands go back and forth when they sit in front of each other to talk.

Santana intertwines her fingers with Brittany's, their joined hands rising and falling with Santana's breathing.

Santana says she's going to tell Brittany a secret. Brittany nods. Santana says that, sometimes, she wants to kiss Brittany. She's staring at Brittany's mouth and Brittany licks her lips without realizing it. She wonders how it would feel to kiss Santana's lips. People say Santana is a great kisser.

So she closes the distance and joins their lips. Santana gasps. Brittany's stomach flutters and flutters and flutters. They kiss again and again. Brittany starts nipping at Santana's lower lip and Santana parts her lips a bit. They deepen the kiss.

It feels like a dream.

* * *

Brittany is practicing some dance moves in her room when Quinn shows up. The window opens and Quinn barges in, without warning or even a proper and polite excuse me. Quinn looks normal in her shorts and t-shirt, but Brittany knows something is wrong.

Quinn throws herself onto Brittany's bed dramatically, face down, hiding under a pillow. It's silly. Brittany can still see her, muscles tense and expecting.

Brittany lets the music play because it's jazzy and soft. She doesn't know what Quinn is expecting her to do, but she can wait. People are ready when they're ready. She knows when to push and when to wait.

If Quinn made it all the way there, she would eventually say something.

When Quinn says she kissed Rachel and Brittany wasn't allowed to tell anyone, Brittany doesn't even flinch. She already knew their dynamics. Kissing was to be expected. There is nothing wrong with kissing girls; Brittany does it. It feels right. People should do what feels right.

Quinn is so afraid of so much. Like Santana, sometimes. Brittany sits by Quinn's side, letting her friend express all of her frustration and anger. Quinn, like Santana, gets angry when she has to deal with feelings. Brittany sees through it. Quinn likes Rachel and doesn't know what to do with it. She's in love, but it doesn't match her expectations for herself.

No one else holds you back but yourself. Your limitations and restrictions? You are the one who builds them, for one reason or another. Brittany knows it. Quinn doesn't.

* * *

Brittany turns 15 before everyone else. She's behind. She missed a year of school when her ADD became too much and her parents couldn't tell anything was wrong until it was too late. She was little back then. It was torturous, until it got at least a bit under control and she could go back to school and concentrate long enough to finish her homework.

She doesn't mind, because that is how she met Santana.

When Brittany wakes up on the morning of her 15th birthday, Santana is there. She smiles. Santana points to a brand new bed for Lord Tubbington, her overweight cat. Brittany claps and pulls Santana in for a hug so tight both of them fall back on the bed, on top of each other. Santana whispers a happy birthday and kisses Brittany's cheek.

Brittany kisses her. Her stomach turns and turns and turns. Santana reciprocates, kissing her slowly as if to savor the moment.

Santana breaks the kiss to take her to the kitchen, where her entire family is. There is a huge banana pie on the table. Your second gift, Santana says, and Brittany is smiling from ear to ear. Banana pie is her favorite. It is the best pie to ever be invented. It is an assault to her mouth.

It is perfect.

The family eats together, talking excitedly. Brittany makes sure everyone gets a piece of the pie. It's absolutely delicious, so she hums in pleasure as she finishes her first piece. Santana wipes the corner of her mouth with her napkin. Brittany's younger sister teases her, saying Brittany was 15 but still hadn't learned how to eat.

Brittany runs after the 8-year-old girl and tickles her until she gives up and says Brittany is the _awesomest_ of all awesome.

* * *

**04. Santana**

Santana is smoking a cigarette, hidden by the empty football field. Puck and Mike come to talk to her. She raises her eyebrows. No way is she having a threesome with the two of them, as she had already said. Puck has his leather jacket on and looks especially hot, for a guy.

Puck says they heard the girls were racing. Santana raises one eyebrow and takes another drag. Mike says they want in. Santana tries to deny it, but apparently Brittany herself had told them inadvertently. Mike says his uncle has some sweet rides he could borrow any time. Puck says they won't tell anyone. They want to do something.

It's autumn, and everything is yellow and boring.

Santana doesn't care about much. She finishes her cigarette and throws it on the ground. Mike crosses his arms. Santana's smile is sly and malicious. They'll do it on Friday, 8pm sharp. Show up with a car and 20 dollars or don't show up at all. She leaves the field, a sensual sway on her hips.

She knows they're staring.

* * *

Santana is eating _empanadillas_ in the kitchen. Her grandmother's _empanadillas_ were the best. The old woman used to have a restaurant, back in the day. Santana admires her strength in raising so many children as a widow while also owning a business. She takes one more, making an appreciative sound when she finds out it's _de carne_. Delicious, delicious meat.

It's the end of the afternoon and her little cousins are running around her grandmother's house.

Her grandmother comes in and Santana kisses her hand when she asks for her _bendición_. She asks if Santana has a boyfriend already, almost making her choke. Santana inhales and exhales. No, she is not with that Jewish boy with horrible hair anymore. She's 14, she should learn to choose her boyfriends.

She swallows dryly when her grandmother asks her about Brittany. She's fine. No, she doesn't have a boyfriend. She doesn't care about boyfriends. Her grandmother analyses Santana and it's like she knows everything. Santana's heart is racing, terrified of being caught in her lie.

* * *

Santana tells the other girls when they meet at 7:30pm. Brittany apologizes. Rachel looks afraid. Quinn looks angry. Quinn looks angry most of the time; the girl has issues. Santana dismisses Rachel's big eyes and tells them she's got this. No need to be afraid or run to daddy.

She hasn't seen her father in a month.

Brittany apologizes again. Santana links their pinkies and says she's got this. It would be fun, anyway. The boys couldn't possibly have half their experience. They've been doing it for almost a year and nothing has happened. They're sharp and competitive. If they played it right, she could get some money out of them.

Santana has her leather pants and white shirt on. She loves to look dangerous. Brittany has an incredibly old pair of jeans and Santana's old AC/DC t-shirt. Quinn has an expensive dress from Bloomingdale, as expected. Rachel has something hideous with polka dots on it. The girl never learns.

Being around Rachel was just like ignoring Rachel, sometimes.

Mike and Puck arrive at 8pm sharp. Mike's uncle has a Ford Mondeo. Not so bad for a family car. They greet and Santana takes the lead in the negotiations. It's Brittany against Mike, and then Santana against Puck. Santana knows they will underestimate Brittany, and the high five they give each other is a sign that they think they are in for an easy victory.

Fools. Brittany wins by such a large margin it's humiliating.

Brittany hugs Santana in celebration. Mike looks defeated, and Puck looks increasingly insecure. Santana thrives at the sound of the engines. She laughs when it begins, and she's so used to her father's car, to the sound it makes demanding she switches gears, that the victory comes naturally. Her father liked cars with power and speed. Santana is smiling when she turns her car a whole 180 degrees, tires screeching on the asphalt, just for the sake of showing off.

Even Quinn looks smug.

* * *

There's a thrill in conquering those boys. Santana loves to win. Racing against them makes the adrenaline in her blood pump faster, as if it were aware of her superiority over everything that could potentially go wrong. When she parks her father's car in a hidden street between two houses, she's absolutely on top of the world.

She finds out winning turns Brittany on soon enough.

Brittany straddles Santana in one swift motion as she leans the seat all the way back until they are lying down more than actually sitting. Santana's hands immediately go to Brittany's thighs. Brittany's mouth quickly meets Santana's, tongue exploring Santana's mouth, teeth pulling on her lower lip before kissing her again.

Santana pulls her closer until their bodies meet, and Brittany moans deep and long and promising. Santana scratches her back under the shirt in response. They are going too far, and Santana is too turned on for this to be good, but there's a tall, perfect blonde on top of her and she's not stopping.

When Brittany accidently bumps against the radio and AC/DC starts playing, Santana thanks the universe.


	2. Part I: 02

**(02)**

**01. Rachel**

It started with an idea. It wasn't even Rachel's. Her fathers turned to her during breakfast and casually suggested a party for her 15th birthday. Rachel stared in disbelief for a few seconds until the idea sunk in. It was absurd. It should be absurd. Outcasts didn't throw parties.

But she had friends now. Popular friends. Cheerios.

If Santana, Brittany and Quinn attended a party, it instantly became cool. They were the Unholy Trinity, after all. It made Rachel a bit jealous sometimes, because the three Cheerios knew each other first and had an amazing and widely recognized chemistry. The entire school knew about them. The entire school respected them.

Rachel was… an addendum, at best.

The four of them were getting somewhere, she hoped, trying to ignore the lack of validation from the public eye. People didn't know they did things together besides watching movies and having ice cream. People did not know they would race and talk and make plans. They didn't know about bets and scores.

They didn't know anything about the thrill of looking into each other's eyes before getting in a car.

* * *

Rachel gets Santana and Brittany. Santana attacks to protect herself. Santana needs to be on top of her game. Brittany believes in the best of people. Brittany will make you a cute drawing on a sad day and take you out for ice cream. Santana will grow ten times bigger to protect a loved one.

But Rachel never knows what to expect from Quinn.

One moment Quinn is Christian and president of the celibacy club. A moment later, she's losing her virginity to the school's biggest bad boy. One moment she's rolling her eyes when Rachel talks about Broadway. A moment later, she's making a comment that implies how very much she actually knows about Cats and Wicked. She never cheats on tests but she steals her father's car and his Cuban cigars.

When Rachel tells the girls about her birthday party, Brittany gets excited and wants to help buy the candy. Santana says she will be in charge of the guest list, because Rachel can't be trusted. Quinn just gives Rachel that cold, hard look, and Rachel reciprocates it, head high. Sometimes it's like Quinn still hates Rachel with the heat of a thousand suns.

Except that Rachel knows she doesn't. Like when Rachel was crossing a street without paying attention and Quinn, out of pure instinct, put an arm out in front of her to stop her; or the time Quinn threw Rachel against the car after their first race and they kissed.

Quinn was Rachel's first kiss, but she doesn't know that yet.

* * *

The party develops on its own accord. Brittany goes out with Hiram to buy a cake and every single piece of candy they can find. When they arrive home, they can barely carry it all. Santana just smiles at Brittany and takes a few bags to the kitchen. It's funny how they all blended in from the beginning, like they had always been around.

Santana makes the guest list. It's a casual yet calculated mix of jocks, Cheerios, the naughtiest exchange students, wannabe rock stars, wannabe drug dealers, older brothers who are in college and Rachel's friends. Rachel approves it, letting Santana deal with the social pyramid on her own.

Santana has an amazing social intelligence.

Quinn takes care of the liquor issue. She has a fake ID and she looks older, not to mention her manipulative traits. It takes no time for the young cashier to hand her four bottles of tequila and 15 cases of beer as Puck and Mike carry the weight to Puck's truck and then to Quinn's storage.

Quinn is risking a lot by hiding Rachel's liquor in her own father's storage until the party.

When Rachel looks at it and the boys leave, sweaty and tired, she feels grateful for Quinn. There's an awkward silence as they stare at each other, unsure of what to say. Quinn looks beautiful in a dark red dress, rich as wine. Rachel says thank you and pulls her in for a hug, wrapping her arms around her neck.

Surprisingly, Quinn holds her close by the waist and breathes in. She feels warm and soft, thumb caressing Rachel's back very slowly. Rachel rests her head on Quinn's shoulder and they remain like that for a long time. She swears she can feel Quinn's heartbeat, her breath on her neck.

For a moment, she raises her head and they lock eyes. Quinn looks at Rachel's mouth and licks her own lips, and Rachel can't help but think she'd like to kiss them again. Her hands go to Quinn's hair, and Quinn closes her eyes to the feeling, mouth parted. Quinn adds more pressure to the small of Rachel's back, bringing her even closer. Their foreheads touch.

They hear the front door open and the moment breaks.

* * *

Apparently, the party was kind of a big deal. Rachel finds that out when Finn Hudson comes to talk to her at school. She's closing her locker when he shows up, tall and handsome. He's the captain of the football team and his mother married Kurt's father. He's popular. Rachel is not.

She's had an infatuation for him ever since freshman year.

He introduces himself and begins to talk about her party. Rachel just nods. People were talking about her party, of all parties? It felt surreal. He says he'll definitely go, and that everyone is excited. He says he could sing at the party, if she wanted to. He's a pretty good singer. Rachel manages to answer it's going to be a blast. Finn gives her his sweet boy smile, and she melts as they say goodbye.

From the distance, Quinn watches.

* * *

**02. Santana**

Santana looks at herself in the mirror and likes what she sees. Her black and blue striped dress hugs her curves perfectly. Her make-up is flawless. Her body is flawless. Brittany stands behind her, placing open-mouthed kisses on her neck. Santana bites her own lip, trying not to moan.

Brittany is wearing black shorts and a pink bra with black polka dots on it. No shirt yet. Santana likes it.

They lace their fingers on Santana's stomach as Santana tilts her neck to provide better exposure. They have time. Brittany bites, earning a moan from Santana. Her body is pressing against Santana, sandwiching her to the dresser. Brittany stops to breathe against Santana's neck, making her shiver.

No one ever sweeps Santana off her feet like Brittany. No one ever makes her heart race. No one makes her shiver. Brittany does.

Santana is bent against the dresser and she opens her legs without noticing. Brittany runs her hands down Santana's back, massaging it. Santana turns. Brittany looks at her and Santana's mouth suddenly becomes dry. Brittany presses a thigh between Santana's.

Brittany loves to tease.

* * *

It's harder than it seems. She's in control all the time, analyzing variables, influences, players and implications. The social game is a hard one to win. It's never-ending and exhausting. Santana excels at it in a calculated and precise manner, unlike Brittany's niceness or Quinn's easy command.

Some things are better left unsaid. Brittany is one of them, sometimes.

Sam is all over her when she arrives at the party. He's part of the football team and he's really good looking. She should like him. She swallows dryly and takes the drink he offers her. He's a good boy, even if a bit nerdy. She should like him. The hand on her back feels heavy, but she lets him lead her somewhere.

She wonders if Brittany is looking her way.

In a corner, Quinn smokes a cigar and drinks beer, not giving a fuck to anyone. Santana wonders what is wrong, but Puck cuts in to offer shots to everyone and she takes two at once. Puck praises her. Sam just smiles with his huge mouth. He has soft eyes.

One more. Sober is overrated.

* * *

She kisses Sam. With tongue. He's respectful, for a boy. Pressures a little for second base after a few minutes. Hands brush her breasts and she pushes them away. His hands are rough and big. She kisses his neck and he closes his eyes. He lets her take control. She pushes his hair and bites.

The alcohol is kicking in.

She has to do it. It's been a long time since she last dated anyone. People start to notice. The general eye is sharp and unforgiving. She's known to be a whore. She's known to be a bitch. You must lie in the bed you make. She made this bed. She created this situation.

It's early enough so people are drunk but still fine. Everyone will remember that. There will be gossip.

She needs gossip to work her way. She keeps on making out with Sam. When they say that kissing is the same for boys and girls, they are wrong. Brittany is soft and gentle. Sam is eager and uses too much tongue. Brittany turns her on. Sam is… a continued effort.

When she looks at her surroundings, Brittany is giving Artie a lap dance. Fair enough.

* * *

She keeps on drinking because she can. She's a free spirit, not attached to anything or anyone. Brittany pulls her from Sam and takes her to the middle of the room, where everyone is dancing to the latest plastic pop song. They're immediately against each other, bodies fully pressed, and Brittany's hand goes to the dangerous area between Santana's back and Santana's ass.

She loves when Brittany dances.

Their hips move together and Santana wraps an arm around Brittany's neck for support. The electronic beat dictates the rhythm, and Santana throws her body back a bit so Brittany can hold her. Brittany pulls her back, and all of a sudden it's too close. She can feel Brittany's breasts against her own, her breath on her neck, and they have been dancing for too long.

Brittany whispers in her ear that she shouldn't be kissing Sam. Santana remains silent. Brittany says she's a better kisser, a better everything. Santana can't disagree. Brittany's tone is commanding and pleading at the same time.

Santana can't. She looks at Brittany and hopes she understands. They stop dancing, still staring at each other. Please, Santana begs.

Puck takes his shirt off and yells body shots. Brittany takes her shirt off, too, and follows him.

* * *

**03. Quinn**

She tried not to care as much as she could, back then. She tried to be indifferent, unattainable, unreachable. She tried to be an impenetrable fortress of stoicism and solitude. Her family is repressed and proud, and taught her all about manners and restraint and Christianism and little about anything else.

She never had the proper space to express her feelings until Rachel.

She tries not to care at Rachel's 15th birthday party when she sees Rachel and Finn singing a duet together. They are looking at each other and smiling, and people are dancing around them. She lights up another cigar and looks away. It bothers her. Rachel gets under her skin, and she hates it. She drinks more of her beer.

She may or may not be drunk.

* * *

Someone yells body shots and suddenly Puck and Brittany are shirtless on the table. Quinn chooses to take her salt from Brittany because it is well known Puck has some kind of crush on her and she does not want anything from the boy. Rachel whispers in her ear that she should have one more. Quinn complies.

Everyone is drinking tequila like it's water.

Rachel touches Finn's stomach like it's no big deal. Quinn hears him say they should go somewhere and talk. Quinn used to date Finn. He's as subtle as a hammer. He's too tall and he's too dumb for Rachel. Finn touches her shoulder.

Quinn can see everything, hear everything. It feels like they're rubbing it in her face.

Rachel drinks her shots from Brittany's toned stomach, and Quinn smirks. Their eyes meet as Rachel licks her lips, and nothing has ever felt as commanding and entrancing as the look on Rachel's face. Quinn has a sudden urge to throw her against a wall and give her the make out session of her life.

It must be the alcohol.

* * *

Quinn can't believe it when she says it. She tells Rachel she can't believe she is falling for Finn. She tells Rachel she can do much better. She looks intently at her red cup and takes a sip and says it. Finn is gone to get Rachel a drink.

She had never imagined how feisty Rachel could be.

Rachel calls her Quinn _Fabray_ and points a finger at her face as she starts to ramble. It's her life and she will not have anyone telling her how to live it. Quinn reacts, taking Rachel's finger off her face and saying she's sorry for wanting the best for Rachel. Rachel laughs, because who is she to say who is the best for anyone.

Quinn gives her a cold stare.

Rachel takes a step closer. She asks Quinn why is Finn not good enough. Why. Why. Why. Who is better than Finn. Who. Who. Would Quinn be better? Is. _That_. It?

Quinn's heart seems to skip a beat. Her mouth opens and closes, but she can't even begin to answer the atrocity Rachel is insinuating. Rachel takes another step towards Quinn and tells her to do something about it if she doesn't approve of Finn.

Quinn kisses her. It's sloppy and aggressive, at first. Rachel closes her fist around a handful of Quinn's blouse and pulls her closer. Quinn takes her to the nearest wall and the both of them moan when they collide against each other.

They break apart. The entire room is staring in disbelief.

It can't be happening. Finn is looking at them, red cup in hand, looking as dumb as ever. Puck looks hypnotized and mumbles he has never been so turned on. Brittany winks.

Quinn leaves the room.

* * *

It's cold when Quinn goes to the balcony. She needs air, she needs to breathe. She doesn't understand what is going on. She needs space. Her heart beats fast and out of control. She can still taste Rachel in her mouth, she can still feel what it feels to have Rachel flush against her skin.

She needs to sober down.

Rachel approaches her and says she is not running away from this. She won't have them kissing and then Quinn running away and never mentioning it again. Quinn takes a few steps back. She didn't know what she was thinking. It was a stupid mistake.

The hell it was. Rachel kisses her.

Rachel feels wonderful. Quinn parts her lips and Rachel takes the cue, deepening the kiss. It's soft and sweet when Rachel caresses her cheek and Quinn nips her lower lip. They exchange light kisses, then wet kisses, until they're breathless.

It feels warm.

Puck shows up by the door and asks if he can join.

* * *

**04. Brittany**

Sometimes Brittany feels like she's stretching in every direction in her infinite effort to please every single person around her. She's not a woman of conflict or confrontation, most of the time. She's a lover, a pleaser, the comic relief in tense moments. She's everything everyone needs her to be.

It has always been this way.

Brittany is the balance between Quinn, Rachel and Santana. She's the harmonizer that keeps them together. She senses conflict before it begins to take place, and she skillfully avoids it. Before there was Rachel, Brittany balanced the power struggle that meant befriending Quinn and Santana. There are times, however, in which conflict works for the better.

When Quinn kisses Rachel and throws her against a wall, Brittany smiles softly in a silent understanding. She's sitting on Artie's lap, wearing his glasses. People look dumbstruck by the force and the unexpectedness of it. Quinn is the bitch in charge who managed to fight back to the top after a disgraceful descent. Rachel is the protégée who would otherwise mean nothing.

People aren't very good at looking beyond appearances, she thinks.

Artie is kissing her neck, and for a moment she allows herself to wish Santana was as brave as Quinn. Quinn is a pressed lemon, sure, but she can't be called a coward. She stands up to her beliefs, she's not afraid of conflict, and she always goes after what she wants.

She's also crazy about Rachel.

If the sounds Rachel is making mean anything, she has no complaints. Oddly turned on, Brittany stands and goes get herself a beer.

* * *

Brittany is staring at her cup when Santana enters and closes the door behind her. Brittany takes a sip and stares at the ground because she doesn't know what to say and she's drunk enough to regret anything that comes out of her mouth. Santana's hand lingers on the doorknob, unsure.

Everyone witnessed Quinn and Rachel kissing and no riot is happening.

Santana closes the distance between them and kisses Brittany, holding her face between her hands. Brittany reciprocates, because Santana is everything, and their lips move against each other slow and careful. Santana says she doesn't know why people need to label things, why they can't continue to be who they are.

It's no one's business, she says.

Brittany sets her cup aside and looks at Santana. She knows Santana is stronger than that. She wishes Santana was stronger than that. She wishes Santana didn't have to sleep with Puck to prove something she has yet to understand. She doesn't know if Santana is trying to prove something to the world or to herself.

Once more and always, Brittany abides.

* * *

Someone says drinking game and everyone agrees. Brittany is still shirtless and bubbly, because drinking makes her giggly and no one is complaining about her bra. They sit in a circle, and apparently the whole purpose of the game is having people make out.

Quinn refuses, unsurprisingly. Santana refuses, and Brittany can sense the fear underlying her refusal.

The German exchange student kisses Mike and it's impressive how long they manage to keep going without breathing. Tina doesn't look satisfied, but then she's kissing the German girl too, and the gay must be taking over that party. Rachel kisses Puck and it's sloppy.

When Brittany kisses Sam, Santana interrupts with a no me gusta. Everyone thinks it's about Sam, who smiles smugly, but Brittany can feel those eyes on her, the uncontrollable and unspeakable jealousy.

If only people had a clue.

Quinn doesn't look too satisfied at the sight of Rachel kissing someone else. When the game is over, she pulls Rachel to her lap and they start kissing like there's no tomorrow. The male population can't stop staring, especially when Quinn's hands disappear and apparently someone is fighting for second base.

Brittany laughs.

* * *

The party is almost over. Besides the four of them, there must be ten other people, including the German girl sleeping on the couch. Brittany is sitting on the floor, back to the couch, trying to ignore how much the room seems to be spinning. No one is doing anything but enjoying the effects of all the beer and all the making out.

Rachel is sleeping on Quinn's lap and no riot is happening.

Santana is next to Brittany, shoulders brushing. It takes focus not to hold her hand or casually put her hand on her thigh. She can feel Santana's tension too, how she's making sure there are at least a few millimeters between their bodies, how she's turned to Puck to make conversation and ignore Brittany altogether.

Brittany says things without thinking. She can't help herself.

When she lets it slip that she can't go to Puck's party next week because the girls will go racing and Santana's face snaps in her direction and Quinn's mouth drops open as she looks at her in shock, Brittany knows she shouldn't have said that.


	3. Part I: 03

**(03)**

**01. Santana**

She has a good eye for business opportunities, and turned Brittany's accidental slip into a lucrative industry itself.

Santana had noticed how easily Puck and Mike had paid twenty dollars each to run one single time, and how they came back to do it a few more times and continued to pay. It was almost too easy when she realized the boys had given them six hundred dollars during two months, without even realizing it.

The strongest sign in that direction was when they paid _her_ to race against _each other_. Fools.

Santana smirks in sheer satisfaction as she walks around, list in hand. Her light blue ripped jeans; grey shirt; and leather jacket were carefully calculated to make her equal amounts desirable and badass. It's the end of a Sunday afternoon, two hours before the sunset.

She demands everyone's attention, and dozens of heads obediently turn to her. She goes through the rules: no one drinks and drives; no one takes _any_ drugs and drives; one race at a time; the more you win, the higher you bet; the higher bets race against The Four; whoever wins against The Four gets all the bets from that day.

It combines people's willingness to open their wallets with their vain ambition of winning and making money out of it. Puck sells overpriced beer to those not driving and gets half of the earnings. The system makes you bet more the more you race, and it's how they say: house always wins.

Brittany whispers on her ear as the first race begins how hot it is to see Santana bossing all these people around. Santana licks her lips.

It's perfect.

* * *

The accountability books are in front of her as she works on the race's Excel file. She's counting the money they made when her father knocks on the door. On a swift gesture, it goes to the drawer on her study desk and she closes it at the same time her father enters.

He's growing a mustache.

Her heart races when he sits down on her queen size bed. They never talk. She doesn't like talking. She closes the books and turns to him. You're almost 16 now, he says. You're becoming an adult, and you must make adult decisions. She nods, hands resting on her lap and legs crossed.

He tells her all his mother's seven sons went to college and they are five doctors and two lawyers, even if she already knows it. He says he would love her to be a neurosurgeon like him, but that there is plenty of space in the field for her to find herself. She could be a pediatrician or a general practitioner, like her uncles.

He tells her to start thinking of volunteering somewhere. Her curriculum is good, but it's lacking in that department. Maybe enter another club. She only has the Cheerios and the French classes this year. He had taken a look at her grades, and he was satisfied she was sticking to their plan.

Santana's mouth feels dry. She just nods.

She is suffocated by all the expectation.

* * *

Brittany is sitting on the trunk of her family's car. Santana is sitting on the trunk of her father's car, listening to some Rolling Stones. Brittany is eating ice cream, enjoying the small joy of licking the chocolate drops off her fingers. Her jeans and Santana's old ACDC t-shirt are surprisingly immaculate so far.

Santana looks at her silently.

Her heart beats faster to think of her and what they could be. Of how well Quinn and Rachel had managed to acquire lesbian status without losing any social status. Of what it would feel like to kiss Brittany good morning by the locker and hold her hands when walking through the mall. Brittany finishes her cone and enters the house to wash her hands.

That special place where _Brittany lives__?_ Yeah, it's beautiful, but someone's got to help her cross the street.

Santana has always had Brittany's back. Soon it will cease to mean helping with homework and protecting her from the down sides of high school. Soon it will mean money, housing, employment, everything. Brittany returns and says her father lent her the car.

It means racing.

There's an empty road on the older part of town. Brittany winks and blows Santana a good luck kiss. Santana smiles sadly as she turns on the engine. It's one of the few things she has under control. Off they go, but Santana is distracted enough so Brittany takes the lead, honking at her. Santana catches up when the road starts to turn to the left.

Her father is right. She has to go to Pre Med to become a surgeon like him.

If Brittany needs her, she will be there.

* * *

She's pushing Artie's wheelchair in what it feels like the utmost humiliation. Brittany is by her side, humming a random Ke$ha song. They're both in their Cheerios uniform, entering the local mall because Artie wanted a milkshake after Cheerios practice and Brittany can't say no. Santana tries to control the snarl, but it's difficult.

Brittany inability to refuse anything works for the worst, sometimes.

Artie grabs them a table and the two of them enter the line, talking casually about the Nationals and dishing Sue Sylvester, as usual. Brittany's hand rests in Santana's shoulder next to her neck, like always. Santana has her back turned to Artie, but she bets he can't be too happy about this interaction. It gets her to smile.

She pays for the whole thing because, well, she never lets Brittany open her wallet.

They sit and Artie asks Brittany how much he owns her, making a priceless face when he learns Santana paid for all of them. Brittany remains blissfully unaware of how emasculated it makes him feel, but it doesn't escape Santana. He knows, and she knows that he knows. He knows exactly which lips Brittany used to kiss, which hand she used to hold, who made her moan.

It fades away when Brittany cleans the corners of Artie's mouth and plays with his hair. Santana looks away, fingers clenching the armrest. It hurts more than she would have imagined. She had Brittany, but had been too stupid to recognize it. She looks back when Brittany touches her arm and commands her attention, attracting her back to the conversation.

She says she needs to go to the bathroom.

Brittany follows. Santana reapplies the lipstick as Brittany watches, entranced. Funny how she could go back and forth between the two of them in a matter of seconds. Santana pouts her lips and sees, discreetly, Brittany running her tongue on her lips without even realizing it.

It gets her to smile again.

She helps Brittany with her make-up, standing purposefully close. Brittany catches her breath. Santana asks if she ever told Brittany how beautiful she is. Brittany looks to the ground and tries to hold back a smile, but nods. I wish you were single, she whispers on Brittany's ear.

Brittany shivers.

Artie better look out for himself.

* * *

**02. Quinn**

Her entire family attends Sunday church, no matter what happens. They are part of a community, and gossip would surely ensue if they didn't, or if one of them didn't. Her older sister Frannie is in rehab to get rid of her unspeakable cocaine addiction, but still leaves weekly to attend the ceremony and return, and one thing Frannie never was was religious.

People don't need to know what's going on.

She can feel the congregation's scrutiny, their silent disapproval of her friendships with someone with a Puerto Rican background and someone with two gay parents. They look at her sister like that too, with all the rumors that surround Frannie: her abortion, her addiction, her promiscuous behavior. Quinn is lucky enough not to be like that.

People don't need to know what's going on.

They make small talk when the ceremony is over. Her mother has an arm linked with her father, even if the marriage is falling apart. She laughs at his jokes, even with her knowledge of his mistress. The priest asks Quinn about her plans, and she says she's not sure yet. All is fine if she marries a nice Catholic boy, her father says half-joking. She laughs too, even if she thinks he doesn't care in the slightest if she goes or not to college.

And people wonder why she's so repressed.

They enter the car to take Frannie back to rehab. She hugs Frannie and tells her she's making great progress. Their mother tells Frannie she hopes to see her home soon. Frannie leaves. The car ride back home is silent and everlasting. There is nothing to say to them. There's no intimacy in the room.

She promises herself once more she is getting out as soon as she can.

* * *

The races are her second kingdom. She's the one who updates Puck on who can and cannot buy the beer, depending on who's racing that night. She's the one who vetoes those who, for one reason or another, had fallen from her good graces. She's the one who settles the disputes and the one who decides who wins each race.

Santana is their spokeswoman, the face of their game, the blunt aggressiveness and the blatant sensuality. Quinn thrives on the background, taking care of the issues that might arise and keeping it all under tight wraps. Perfect fit.

She never drinks. She doesn't like to lose control in front of a crowd like that. She often sits on top of Puck's truck and watches. She sees people interacting, drinking, flirting, and making out. She makes sure no one is getting too aggressive or too frustrated, trying to spot any disturbance before it gets out of hand.

What they do is risky and forbidden, and nothing can go wrong.

Rachel shows up and takes her from her thinking. She stops feeling like a watchwoman, a spectator, when Rachel kisses her hands and smiles. Rachel has the biggest, brightest smile Quinn has ever seen. Everything feels warm, and Quinn has to hold back not to smile back. Her reputation as Ice Queen must stand, after all.

She agrees to take a walk with Rachel and puts a hand on Rachel's waist. She greets a few people here and there, talks to Puck for a while, and does the necessary rounds. She ends up kissing Rachel by her father's car, sometimes sweet and gentle, often frantic and desperate, sucking her neck, biting her lip, and pulling her close.

* * *

The four of them are watching Wicked because, really, Idina Menzel. Rachel has a Hollywood room with a giant TV and two gay fathers who show up with popcorn, chips, candy, warm chocolate, water… They're almost too attentive. The girls secretly love it, accepting all they offer in an endless chatter.

She recognizes it's almost comical the way she refrains from being too gay with Rachel around her _gay_ dads every time they enter the room.

She can't help it. They're her _parents_. Rachel is their _daughter_. She's taking her innocence. Somehow.

She doesn't even know where to put her hands. It is embarrassing.

She keeps her back straight and tries to ignore the flutter Rachel's hand on her thigh gives her. She tries to ignore her index finger drawing patterns on her skin, breath catching. She tries to ignore when Rachel reaches for her cup of hot chocolate and her arm brushes Quinn's breasts.

Rachel is too much, sometimes.

She looks at Brittany and Santana, tangled in each other by the rug, and she wishes they would just get together already. Brittany looks at her, their eyes meet for a second, and before she knows it she's in a tickling contest, and she's losing.

Brittany is on top of her, celebrating her victory, when one of Rachel's dad asks if anyone wants banana pie and Brittany runs for the kitchen like there's no tomorrow. Santana shoots her a dreamy look.

Poor Artie.

* * *

Rachel and Quinn developed a habit of looking at each other's eyes for the longest of times. Quinn examines Rachel's every feature, mapping her face in her mind, and waves of gratitude hit her. Rachel generally is the first to look away, a bit shyly, with a silly grin on her face. Quinn grins too, because Rachel is beautiful.

They sitting on the couch, facing each other, legs tangled. Rachel's hands rest on Quinn's thighs, warm and sure. It feels peaceful. For that moment, she doesn't have to carry any weight. She can listen to her own heartbeat and see Rachel's chest rising and falling.

Rachel says she wants to ask something: what are they? They never really talked about it. Quinn can't disagree. Her stomach feels like it was tied in a knot. She tries to say something, but fails, so she places both hands on Rachel's to ask her what she wants to be, to take the pressure away from her answer and to get her time to gather her thoughts.

She's far from excelling at expressing emotions. Talking about them is a herculean task.

She says she's not good at talking. She says she's not a good girlfriend. She says she's not even a good person. She feels like throwing up. She's terribly afraid of being left, or being second place to someone else, because she knows Rachel deserves much better.

Rachel has that look on her face when she kisses Quinn. She kisses her back, a hand on the back of her neck as she deepens the kiss. Rachel says softly she's much more than that, and Quinn holds her. She asks Rachel to be her girlfriend.

Rachel says yes.

* * *

**03. Brittany**

Brittany should be the harmonizer, but she has lost her own balance. Sitting next to Artie, she has their hands intertwined as she watches Santana talk to Quinn at another table in the cafeteria. Santana has pretty blue earrings on, Brittany can't help but notice.

She gave those to Santana last Christmas, when she got back from Santa Fe. Her mother had told her they would look beautiful on Santana. Brittany agrees.

She misses sitting at the same table as Rachel, Quinn and Santana, but Artie always feels left out and would rather sit with his friends. They're fine, but they're not her best friends, and she still misses having lunch with them. Brittany sighs and eats her salad in silence, trying to guess what Santana could be telling Quinn.

She wishes she could be next to Santana, as usual, playing with the hairs on the back of her neck, sitting so close their thighs would touch quietly. She misses drinking wine with Santana and exchanging fluttering kisses. It is not usual for her to hold back from Santana in any way.

But she has a boyfriend now. It's her first real relationship, and Artie treats her nicely. She was his first. He's a good boy, and he cares about her. She cares about him, too. He's good to her.

He's still not Santana. Sometimes, when Santana is telling people The Rules of their racing business, or when she's stretching before Cheerios practice, or when she's putting on make-up, she wishes she could have Santana.

She dreams about the moment Santana whispered in her ear that she wished Brittany was single.

* * *

She tries to be Kurt's campaign manager, but he ends up refusing. He hadn't really understood her Unicorn idea and how he was supposed to let his unique, beautiful traits define him. Santana gets it. Santana tells her she is the unicorn herself, and Brittany doesn't feel sad anymore.

She thinks she's a bicorn, though.

She talks to her mom and realizes she can't remember any girls running for Class President, and that the United States never had a woman as their President, and how it's all so unfair that in the 21st century there is still so much inequality. Look at where it all got them: double digit inflation, economic free fall, oil spills, war in Afghanistan...

She watches CNN every day with her mother.

Santana thinks she's right, and asks why doesn't Brittany become a candidate. She could be Brittany's campaign manager, if she wanted. Brittany smiles from ear to ear. Santana tells her she can do it. Brittany hugs her and says they will totally win this. She knows she can trust Santana, her planning and her cunning abilities. Santana sees an opportunity and makes the best of it.

Be the Unicorn.

Who run the world? Girls.

Best slogans ever.

* * *

The campaign develops a mechanism of its own. Santana gathers supporters, orchestrates the advertising, puts up the posters, and gathers the Cheerios to give away free candy and pamphlets with Brittany's promises and principles. She helps Brittany write her speeches.

As her campaign manager, they get their fair share of alone time. It soon becomes a problem.

Santana sits on Brittany's bed to discuss their numbers and if more posters are needed, but the shorts she's wearing are too short for everyone's sake and Brittany often loses focus. The blouse she's wearing has too much cleavage, and the way her body is leaning forward to show her a rise in their numbers in the analysis Brittany is holding, displays even more.

Santana notices her stare. She looks at Brittany's lips for a moment, almost going in for a kiss. Brittany wants it so badly she couldn't properly express how much. It has been months since their lips met, since they made out after a race, since Santana sunk her nails into Brittany's skin and closed her eyes at Brittany's touch.

Her younger sister's voice is heard through the hall yelling something about Batman and it's over. Santana looks like a child who didn't get her Christmas gift. Brittany's eyes shoot back to the piece of paper in her hands, embarrassed.

She is still wearing the outfit from her performance of Run The World that day. Santana tells her she was amazing, and that they've totally got this. They are heading in the right direction, for sure. Brittany nods, trying not to stare at Santana and trying to process all the information.

She has a chance at winning. She, Brittany Susan Pierce, the most underrated of The Four, the one often called stupid, had a chance to become the next Class President. People believed her. People would vote for her. All because of a suggestion by Santana.

She tells Santana she loves her. Santana says she loves her right back.

* * *

Brittany is painting her toenails in her room with Quinn. Their tutoring in English Literature is over for the day, and Brittany managed to write an entire essay about Jane Austen all on her own. She even got Quinn to smile that small, hidden smile she gives when she's very satisfied but won't admit it.

Jane Austen used to be Quinn's favorite. Brittany can picture Quinn in that scenario, with all the etiquette and elegance required in order to be part of that world.

Quinn sighs and says she wants to talk. Not about Rachel. About Santana. Rachel is with her vocal coach at the moment, Santana is out doing some volunteer work. Brittany has a feeling Quinn has been waiting for this opportunity.

She asks Brittany if she knows what she is doing.

Brittany doesn't understand. Quinn says she sees what they are doing, and it is wrong. Brittany has a boyfriend. It is wrong to treat Santana like nothing has changed, because both of them know how Santana feels. It can't end well, and she's going to hurt every person she's trying to protect. Brittany can't disagree.

There's a heavy feeling of shame in her stomach.

* * *

**04. Rachel**

Rachel felt the difference immediately. It was hard not to let it get to her head, when people's reactions to her changed so profoundly. When she logged onto Facebook after her party, there were 31 friend requests awaiting her acceptance. When she looked at her phone, there were text messages and missed calls, including one from Puck saying, "menage y/n."

He kept re-sending that text every day for the next two months.

It was an amazing experience, entering through the school's front doors. No slushies were thrown at any of her friends. People looked at her with awe and wonder as they whispered. There was a seat on Quinn's right in every class they shared and a fear and an admiration in other people's eyes. People in every club she was a part of stopped making fun of her. Finn said a clumsy "Hi Rachel." Puck invited her to the party he was throwing the following week. A girl accidentally bumped into her and _apologized_.

Apparently, being the Queen's chosen one had quite a few implications.

Quinn met up with her by the lockers and looked at her with a poorly disguised self-satisfaction, placing a lock of hair behind her ear. Rachel kissed her jaw, in a particular moment of bravery. Quinn smiled softly.

The following weeks set the pace for their relationship. The rumor reached every ear and was confirmed by every time Quinn met her and offered her arm to take her to her first class of the day, by every time she put a hand on the small of Rachel's back as she opened a door for her, or by every time she pulled a chair out for Rachel.

Quinn was a gentleman. It was curious, in a way.

She helped Rachel with her coat, and offered her own when Rachel occasionally forgot hers. She draped an arm over the back of Rachel's chair when they sat next to each other. She paid for Rachel's coffee, and she had an impressive talent of memorizing how Rachel liked her coffee, her sandwich, her juice and every one of her favorite foods.

It was hard not to feel on top of the world.

* * *

She braced herself for the dangers she knew so very well. She had two gay parents after all, and growing up had been a well-orchestrated ballet of being out and proud and being discreet and careful. There was the appropriate touching, the safe touching, the safe neighborhoods, the anonymous big city, the dangerous streets, the avoided parties, the ignored insults.

Her parents suffered bullying as much as she did.

The first time it happened, she was at school. A jock, sporting mullets even though they are in the 21st century, came up to her to tell her she didn't have to throw her sexual orientation in his face. She told him she wouldn't accept his invasive behavior and as long as he was allowed to kiss his girlfriend on the lips in public, she would do the same.

Also, her girlfriend was hotter and he knew it.

The second homophobic approach was by none other than Azimio and Karofsky, of course, well known by their malicious rants towards Kurt. Classes were over for the day and she was heading to her locker when they showed up. Her heart raced out of control when Azimio slammed her locker shut and started yelling about homos and disgust and whatnot, and she had to take a step back.

Azimio and Karofsky were just the type to rely on physical intimidation, and they were much larger than she could ever dream to be.

Puck, Santana and Mike showed up right on time, luckily. Having two tall, strong jocks to take down was surely more than the tiny, lesbian Rachel, and trying anything against Santana was, to say the least, a bad political move. Puck made his bad boy face and puffed his chest out, and even the quiet, well behaved Mike looked ready for a fight. Santana, well, she was always ready for a fight.

They left. Santana hugged her, in the rarest of moments, and asked if she was okay.

* * *

The races were her moment. She was good at it, and her skill was not only recognized, but also valued. She wasn't the lesbian Rachel, the loser Rachel, the loud Rachel. It was just her and her car. No school hierarchy, no bullying, no prejudice, no fear of wasting her talents or not having any talents at all. She had a goal and the means to fulfill it.

It felt good to be a winner, for a change.

She was the one who inspected the cars to see if they were fit. She made sure they were ready to take the road and compete, as part of their safety policy. She was also in charge of teaching the beginners. She took them for a ride, listened to their doubts, corrected their mistakes. They looked at her with admiration, they asked to watch her race, and they paid to sit next to her in a few races. They wanted to be her friends.

She was like them. She hadn't always been on top. She had been subjected to nasty slurs and had received her fair share of slushies before somehow climbing to the top.

The last race of the day is hers. She talks to one of her pupils and he is more excited than she is. It's the first time he will watch her race, and he tells her he is cheering for her. She smiles and thanks him right before Quinn appears and offers her arm. Rachel takes it and kisses her, laughing when the boy blushes and looks away.

Quinn takes her to the car and pulls Rachel in for a longer kiss. Rachel smiles into the kiss, pulling her closer. Good luck, Quinn says to her. Rachel kisses her jaw and gets in the car. People are cheering for her. People are betting on her. The car she is in belongs to her father; he was going through a middle age crisis and bought the 550 Spyder, 50th Anniversary Edition. It is a nice car, to say the least. The nicest car around, probably. Rachel smiles.

She has a gold star on her bracelet because it's a metaphor.

It's a metaphor for who she wants to be, for the life she wants to have, for the spotlight she yearns to claim someday. She allows Sam to go first, because no matter how nice his car is, hers is better and she is giving him leverage. But, of course, she is great in cities and streets and turns and she catches up to him.

She is not going to be left behind.

She understands Quinn. She doesn't have many chances to be on top. She doesn't have many chances to be noticed. There is no other option but winning. She has to prove she has what it takes. She sees what happens to people in that town, how they suffocate their dreams and bow to status quo. There are great people there, forever wasting their talents, unnoticed.

She is not going to be one of them.

* * *

Rachel's Hollywood room is their space. It has a small stage, a giant television, its own small fridge and her parents bought another couch so everyone could sit comfortably. They value her independence and trust her judgment, so whenever the four of them are there they have permission to close the door and just hang out.

On that historical day, they are studying. Rachel is sitting on the armchair, reading her European History book; Santana sits on the floor with her back to the couch and works on her Chemistry worksheet; Quinn sits next to Brittany on the couch and goes over their latest English Literature assignment.

Rachel looks at them and there is warmth in knowing it has been two years since it all began.

There's a knock on the door and her fathers tell the four of them to come out so they can talk. They look at each other, confused. They're thinking the same thing: do Rachel's parents know? Had they finally taken a closer look and found out how the miles in their cars were higher than they should be, or had someone told them about the races to get back at them somehow?

If Leroy and Hiram knew, would all their parents also know?

Quinn tells them not to panic. It doesn't help much, however, because Rachel wants to die or get in an accident or anything to distract her dads from the fact that she is so beyond screwed she can't even see screwed from where she's standing. She is a good girl, she's supposed to be a good daughter, with her grades and her involvement in clubs and charity and for the love of God what if the police knows and she can't ever go to New York because she's rotting in jail at the tender age of 16?

Quinn holds Rachel's face in her hands and tells her to breathe. She kisses Rachel's forehead slowly, until Rachel stops panicking. Santana holds Brittany's hand as they leave Rachel's Hollywood room, and Rachel just wishes they would get together already.

They sit on the porch, silent and nervous. Rachel holds Quinn's hand to brace herself from the parental anger she anticipates. Hiram starts telling them they are really nice kids and they should always look after each other. Rachel looks at them suspiciously, because this is an odd start to the beatdown. Leroy cuts in and says they can see the girls' friendship has blossomed and how they're really glad they found each other. He says Rachel is their only heir and they have more than enough money with his business. He and Hiram had noticed how they liked cars, and how they had seen them at Burt's shop, asking him questions and helping around.

Hiram answers his phone and says something along the lines of "now" as Leroy tells them they decided to give each of them a gift, now that they're all 16.

A black, a red, a yellow and a baby blue Mustang show up in front of their house, driven by her father's employees. Rachel looks at Quinn, who looks at Brittany, who looks at Santana, who looks at the Mustangs and starts mumbling in Spanish. Quinn calls Leroy Mr. Berry and tells him he shouldn't, but he just raises his hand.

Her father's employees reach the porch and hand them the keys. Hiram says the jet black one is for Quinn, the red one is for Santana, the blue is for Brittany, and the gold one with the star is, of course, for their own star, Rachel.

Rachel's eyes fill with tears, because she knows Brittany's parents are low middle class taking a second mortgage on their house and couldn't afford her any car, let alone a Mustang; she knows Santana's parents can't take enough time out of their schedules to take her out to buy a car even though they had promised months ago and any type of parental attention is a plus; and Quinn would never dream to be this welcomed or this loved by someone and this must be huge. Rachel cannot imagine better parents than hers, and she pulls them both for a hug. Quinn hugs them too, and soon they're all in a group hug. She can swear Santana is fighting back tears when she asks how she can thank them. Take good care of them, Leroy says, and kisses the top of her head.

Santana positively sobs.


	4. Part I: 04

**NA:** A big, juicy thank you for everyone's support on Tumblr and here. You are always welcomed there to talk, ask questions and anything else you can think of.

Part I was fully written when I started posting here on ff. As I am yet to write Part II, my next update will be much slower; I would advise you to put this story on your alerts.

* * *

**(04)**

**01. Rachel**

Santana looks at her and tells her to take those bitches down. Brittany tells Santana not to swear, but even she has an evil twinkle in her smile. Rachel doesn't dignify the comment with an answer, just pulls Quinn by the shirt and kisses her open-mouthed and hot against her very own golden Mustang.

Some of the men cheer, but Rachel brushes them off with a "you wish." They're not used to watching girls race, let alone gorgeous lesbians like them. Santana chose Rachel's outfit for the night, and she has to admit she never looked _this_ good with her black boots, tight jeans, and white wife beater.

Rachel gets in the car and so does her opponent. He's an alpha male, assertive and competitive, a girl on his arm and too much testosterone in his blood. No wonder young men had a higher death rate than the rest of the world's population.

Santana is on the lane right next to hers, ready for her own race against a different opponent. She is wearing her leather jacket with nothing underneath, a little too much cleavage in display. She looks so _Santana_ and so comfortable in her own skin that it's hard not to smile. She looks like a little devil with that red lipstick, and Rachel does feel sorry for her competition.

Someone's girlfriend gives them the signal and off they go, tires screeching because there is no possibility of losing when they're building the reputation they're building. Rachel makes an abrupt turn and driving a Mustang is so easy that it should be forbidden, because the engines are practically singing, begging for more. Her foot pushes down on the accelerator.

It is impressive what a few Mustangs, a well-played marketing strategy, and being known by the right people can do.

They were officially in the regional, illegal racing scene.

* * *

She wants to remain a virgin until she's 25 and wins her first Tony, but Quinn makes it very hard sometimes. All she needs to do is merely look at Rachel to get her blushing, out of breath. When her lips touch Rachel's jaw and start their slow, torturous way down her neck, Rachel has to grab whatever Quinn's wearing until her knuckles turn white just so she can stop her hands from wandering too much.

Rachel's dads trust her so much that they don't have an open door policy, which would very well serve as a restraining factor. Rachel does appreciate the gesture and the trust deposited in them, but it's very hard to hold back when the door is closed, there's no one home, Quinn's hair is messy and lips, swollen. Quinn looks at her like she wants to devour Rachel and Rachel may or may not be straddling Quinn's lap.

The worst part is that Quinn is the most respectable, respectful girlfriend Rachel could ever imagine. She never pressures Rachel to do anything she doesn't want to, she always respects Rachel's limits and she never makes her feel anything less than cherished.

It generally starts very innocently and without a drop of second intentions. Rachel comes back from the kitchen with some cookies and juice specially made by her Daddy that morning. Quinn leans in for a thank you kiss, but they take a second too long and Rachel nudges her lower lip. Quinn places a hand on the back of Rachel neck and claims access that is promptly granted, tongue against Rachel's, slow and certain.

When she realizes what's going on, several buttons of her blouse are snatched open; her hands are cupping Quinn's ass and her girlfriend is saying maybe they should stop for a moment; they're on the couch, Quinn on top of her, and Rachel's legs are spread wider than appropriate for a lady.

She always has to hold back a whine when Quinn distances herself and she instantly misses the contact.

* * *

She's looking for her lost cellphone when she hears Quinn singing in the shower. It's soft and gentle, almost shy. Quinn is an alto, and however untrained, Rachel can almost feel it in her bones: the potential for winning Nationals with the Glee club. She smiles as she leaves the room.

They're in the middle of a hot make out session when she mentions Glee club. Quinn doesn't think well when Rachel's pressing her against the wall.

She would be great there. Her voice is what they need. It would look great on her résumé. Rachel bites her lower lip and pulls. They could sing together. Quinn tries to counter her arguments, but Rachel rolls her hips and Quinn throws her head back. Talents need to be displayed. She shouldn't hide hers.

Her nails scratch Quinn's lower back and Quinn arches her back into Rachel. She could just give it a try, couldn't she? Quinn nods and Rachel smile

* * *

Brittany wins Class President and they perform their celebratory flash mob with Beyoncé's Run The World. It took them weeks, the entire Cheerios squad and all girls in Glee club, but it looked impressive. Rachel has no doubt about who chose that skirt, because Santana's predilection for black leather is noticeable and Rachel doesn't underrate how much thought was put into that performance.

Santana opens up her house and her father's liquor cabinet to a party that knows no limits. There are posters with Brittany's face everywhere, glitter all over the place, and too many red solo cups. Apparently vodka is the new water and everyone is thirsty, because the drinks keep flowing and the music keeps playing and no one stops.

Quinn has a protective arm around her, just in case.

She allows herself a few beers, enough to make her light headed and giggly, and even Quinn drinks a cup or two. They are so very proud of Brittany, so happy for how great it will be for her and how much she will learn. With her parents' recent money struggles and her ups and downs with Santana, she surely needs a break. Rachel knows she can do great things with that heart of hers.

She can't help but notice how hammered Artie looks and how bitterly he looks at Brittany and Santana, dancing together to the catchiest dance song.

* * *

**02. Brittany**

Brittany has had a couple drinks, but she knows that this feeling of inebriation is the result of her spectacular win for Senior Class President. Her rendition of Run The World was flawless, after weeks of practice and vocal coaching with Rachel. The student body had clapped and cheered for her.

Santana's unrestrained smile in her direction made it even more worth it.

Santana had been her first and most dedicated supporter, her right arm. Gratitude filled Brittany's lungs just by looking at her and knowing their plan had worked out. When Santana opened the doors to her family's house and music started to blast through her ears, all she could see was Santana.

When they dance together, Brittany's hands on Santana's hips and endless laughter on her throat, it feels like _their_ victory.

She leaves Santana for a moment to ask Artie if he needs a drink or something. She's sweaty, she's tired, but she can't stop smiling as people congratulate her over and over again. Artie, on the other hand, doesn't look so happy. He says he wants to talk, now. His eyes are hazy and he's drinking too much, too fast.

He starts gesturing as he says he can't stand Santana. Brittany behaves differently around her, they're too close, it's too much for him. He feels left out, like he has to compete for a relationship he was supposed to have already. He tells her that she knows how insecure he is, and having someone else provide her things he should be providing as her boyfriend is just too much.

Brittany catches her breath. She can't believe he's saying that in the middle of her celebration, in a public setting like that, being disrespectful and insecure. She tries to soothe him, tell him that Santana is her closest friend, that Santana doesn't do it on purpose.

He says of course she does it on purpose and asks why Brittany is so stupid.

Time stops for a moment. Artie had been one of the few who had never called her stupid, one of the few who hadn't underestimated her and what she could be. She holds back the tears and turns her back to him, leaving him behind.

* * *

It is going to be fun. And dangerous. Brittany opens the door to her very own Mustang, hand almost caressing the smooth bodywork. She calls it Treasure, because that's what it is. It's the best gift she has ever been given; she washes it every Saturday and always makes sure it's nothing less than pristine.

Racing is not a childish game anymore. They're rising fast and fabulous. They're the youngest of the racers; the proud four out of only a handful of girls to ever enter a race. Brittany doesn't mind. She knows she's good at it.

They told their parents they had to travel because of a Cheerios thing.

Brittany takes a deep breath and looks at Santana. She finds nothing but reassurance. She can do this. She can do anything if Santana is by her side. Nothing bad happens when Santana is around.

They're in Indiana. This is new territory. They are not used to racing like this; Rachel's all about practice and Quinn is all about controlling the variables. None of them has ever raced in this particular track.

Her competition has a mustache, she notices right before they both take off. It only takes a few seconds for her to reach a dangerous speed; she's barely keeping up. Her mouth forms a thin line as they reach their first abrupt turn and she has to put her foot on the brake so their cars won't collide.

Her muscles are tense when she gains speed and takes a dangerous advantage by using the contraflow lane before returning to her own side of the road. Those seconds feel long and she lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding as she goes back to the right track. She carefully maneuvers the car in front of him so that he has no other option but to lag behind, but she knows there are a few more turns before it ends.

Three turns later, she almost loses control when the car fishtails. She curses under her breath; the guy catches up to her, but she knows not to worry. She can see their goal, the finish line. She does best when she can see what she's doing. The curve of the road is her cue.

He falls a bit behind because he doesn't know how to use the track. She's great at it. She knows the exact angle she must enter the curve in order not to lose speed.

She wins.

The four girls laugh, and laugh, and laugh. Nothing can stop them.

* * *

Santana lightly bops her nose with her index finger and tells her she deserves better. A complete sadness fills Brittany for a moment, hidden with Santana under the stairs of her home. Santana puts an arm over her shoulder, pulling her close and kissing her forehead. They have to go to Cheerios practice, but Santana says she wants to do something first and takes Brittany by the hand until they reach her bedroom.

Brittany sits on the edge of the bed, still pouting. When Santana closes the door, the sounds of her mother washing the dishes and her father fixing the car become distant, as if in another reality. Brittany wishes Artie wouldn't have said _it_, touching her Achilles' heel. Or ankle. Or toe. She isn't too sure which one.

She knows people think she's lightheaded at best, plain stupid at worst. She thought Artie wasn't one of them.

She's too immersed in her thoughts to notice the fretting of Santana's hands, how she paces around in her room and the long, tender look she gives Brittany. Her voice fills the room with Songbird by Fleetwood Mac. Brittany catches her breath, trying not to make a sound, afraid to break the spell. Santana's voice is beautiful like her: dark, sultry, rich.

Brittany's eyes are watery as well, because she does love Santana like never before. They envelop each other in a tight hug when the song ends; Brittany wants to feel Santana's beating heart against hers forever, warm and promising.

She would remember this moment for the rest of her life.

* * *

Glee club is actually kind of awesome. Why weren't they always in Glee club? Brittany wouldn't know. People there are a bit different, but it's a safe place for everyone, including The Four. Everyone treats each other as family, and everyone is protective of each other.

After the Cheerios and always having to watch your back, it is a nice feeling.

There's singing and dancing all the time, much better than Coach's I-will-shoot-you-through-a-cannon way of valuing Brittany's abilities. Mr. Schue has the weirdest hair, but his heart is in the right place and he's always bringing up new ideas and songs.

And, of course, there's Santana's voice: Santana's perfect voice singing Lady Gaga; Santana's sweet voice in a duet of River Deep, Mountain High; Santana's husky voice singing Amy Winehouse. And Santana's sexy stage presence, making sweet love to the microphone stand, smiling and smirking, making small gestures in the air.

Brittany licks her lips and just watches.

* * *

The tension with Santana becomes palpable during the following couple of weeks. They were filled with silences, touches, looks; her existence felt intensified. If Brittany herself wasn't in a relationship and Santana gave every sign she wanted one, what was stopping them? Brittany wouldn't know.

What she does know is that Santana's perfume is citric and feels particularly strong on that spot where her neck meets her shoulder. She also knows the shape of Santana's body at a distance when the Cheerios shower after a practice, dark skin contrasting with white tiles.

She knows Santana looks at her lips for a bit longer than prudent when they're doing homework in Rachel's Hollywood room. She's aware of her own denied necessity to place her hand on Santana's thighs, to caress her arm, to run her fingers through soft locks of hair to style the ponytail so characteristic of their place in the squad.

It doesn't take too long. Brittany is the type who always does what she wants.

Santana is wearing a tiny red dress when it happens. Dresses like that shouldn't be allowed to hug her body so tightly. She had had dinner with her parents and come straight to Brittany's. It was a Friday, and Fridays were full of parties to attend. Brittany was wearing a robe and staring at her clothes in the search of something to wear.

She really shouldn't be wearing that little clothing.

Brittany notices Santana's wandering eyes, and she knows Santana notices hers as well. She can't help herself. They try to make small talk and Brittany does eventually choose her outfit for the evening. Santana holds the dress in front of Brittany's body, hands touching Brittany's shoulders; she's standing so close; it's too much.

Brittany covers Santana's hand with her own and caresses it with her thumb. Santana licks her lips. Brittany hasn't tasted Santana in endless months, and she wonders if it's still the same. There's nothing holding them back now. It's not wrong, forbidden, or any other excuse they might have made up in the past.

Brittany tells Santana she misses her. Santana joins their lips together. Brittany would like to say it takes her by surprise, but it doesn't; she's been expecting it for months. The dress falls to the floor, forgotten, as Santana wraps her arms around her neck. Brittany kisses her again, tasting her lip gloss, and pulls her close. She deepens the kiss, marveling in Santana, exploring her mouth and sucking her tongue.

Santana mumbles Brittany's name over and over again between kisses, cupping her face. The robe falls to the floor.

* * *

**03. Quinn**

Quinn shifts gears. It's hot outside, the type of heat that clings to her skin. She looks forward, jaw clenched in concentration. Her opponent is just ahead of her, having led the whole race, but she doesn't let it get to her skin. She watched him race. She understands his weaknesses as a driver and as a person.

He puts too much pressure on the front, and he's going to lose.

She doesn't accelerate because there is a turn coming, broad and long. She likes Indianapolis. No one knows her family, her status, her past. There is no baggage in that town. She has to prove herself worthy of any status. She has to prove it more than once, because they are the youngest around and because they are girls.

It's going to happen soon. He loses control of his car for a second; she's right behind him when it happens. When his car takes its rear to the left, she goes to the right and takes the lead. Her turn is precise and she accelerates when it becomes a straight line.

He is never going to get back those precious seconds he missed. Quinn smirks as she gains speed, finish line in sight. She wins and Brittany practically tackles her to the floor with a hug.

* * *

She learns how convincing Rachel can be soon enough.

Quinn doesn't want to paint a golden line on her beautiful black Mustang; she wants it to remain the black panther it is. It might be a quick trip to Burt's shop and it might be simple and whatnot, but she doesn't want to do it. She doesn't really care about yin and yang and symmetry and all kinds of explanations Rachel has to offer.

She is already in Glee club. That should count for something.

Apparently it doesn't, because Rachel insists. There is not much will to argue when Quinn's lying down on a hotel bed in Indianapolis and Rachel should be giving her a nice massage to release her tension and maybe have some hot and steamy make out session later that just might reward her second base. Instead, she's on a hotel bed by herself as Rachel performs her nightly rituals and doesn't stop talking.

Rachel says Brittany thinks it's a great idea, too, and she's talking to Santana at that very moment, so the couples can have their own unique yin yang harmony balanced cars. Quinn knows right then that she is cornered. Santana will say yes in a heartbeat, because if there's anything she loves more than being the HBIC, its making Brittany smile.

Not that she knows if they're official or not. Girls are complicated.

Rachel asks if she's listening. She pulls Rachel to straddle her lap as she answers of course. Rachel is wearing a yellow robe, loose enough to expose the valley of her breasts; she shouldn't be wearing that if the two of them are supposed to be committed to chastity. Rachel's robe is way too short; her thighs brush against Quinn's, fingers tangling in blonde hair.

Quinn closes her eyes, tilting her neck for access. Rachel takes the cue and starts ravishing Quinn's neck, wet kisses first, followed by slow bites. They quickly reach a consensus in which Quinn agrees to whatever Rachel wants to do with their Mustangs as long as Rachel kisses the living _daylights_ out of her.

Nice and fair.

* * *

The four of them go to Burt's shop as soon as they're back in Lima. Brittany giggles in excitement, Rachel positively beams with her thousand watt smile, Santana trims her nails in indifference, and Quinn just sits there and lets Rachel do her thing. Rachel has sketches, ideas, and colors chosen.

Of course Rachel would be prepared.

Burt agrees here and there as Rachel explains. When he disappears into the shop, Rachel turns to Quinn. Quinn holds back a smile, but Rachel kisses her tenderly and she ends up pulling the shorter girl towards her as she nips on her lower lip. Arms wrapped around Quinn's neck, Rachel smiles softly.

Quinn finally cracks a smile.

* * *

Glee club is not so bad. All Quinn has to do, most of the time, is swing in the background and watch Rachel fill the room with her voice. Rachel cannot be contained when she's on stage, and Quinn has chills when Rachel stares right at her during a song. It's witnessing a whole other side of Rachel, a side that was born for stardom.

Quinn tells her that one weekend, when it's just the two of them in Rachel's kitchen. Rachel is wearing a light pink dress and a headband, and she looks nothing short of adorable. The room smells like the popcorn they just made.

Rachel thanks her and pulls her in for a hug. Quinn envelops her arms around the girl, kissing her forehead. It feels warm and comfortable. Rachel's fruity scent takes over when Quinn hides her face in Rachel's neck, inhaling. Quinn feels so much for her it cannot be contained.

Quinn loves her, and she says it out loud.

Rachel tenses and distances herself to look into Quinn's eyes. Quinn repeats what she has just said, hoping desperately it wasn't too much, too soon.

Rachel looks at her and cups her face. She tells Quinn she has loved her for a long time, thumb running down Quinn's cheek. Quinn can't stop looking into her eyes, because Rachel is wonderful and it's still surprising that she wants to be with Quinn, of all people.

Rachel smiles. They kiss in the kitchen until Quinn hits the bowl and there's popcorn all over the floor.

* * *

**04. Santana**

Santana will never tell Brittany, but she confronts Artie. She confronts his condescendence, his self-righteous ways, and his lack of trust. He could talk to her if he had a problem, couldn't he? He could try not to treat his fucking girlfriend like a child. He could try to have a conversation somewhere other than his girlfriend's celebration party.

He looks terrified. She thrills on it.

He tries to answer, at first. He accuses her of cheating, of misleading his girlfriend, of being a bitch. She laughs coldly and asks if Ronald McWheels treats all women like that. She is not giving him a free pass because he can't walk or find nicer clothes than his grandfather's hand-me-downs.

For the record, she had never even tried. She doesn't know why, but she never even tried to do anything. She has respect. Can he even spell respect with those ridiculous gloves? And, unlike some people, she respects Brittany's wishes and never, ever looks down on her girl.

The ultimate proof she's a civilized person is that she doesn't hit him in the face.

* * *

Santana dreams about her rendition of Songbird. She dreams of the way Brittany's hair fell on her shoulders, how her eyes filled with tears, how tightly she hugged her afterwards. She dreams of the few moments right before, Brad's silent understanding at the piano as she practiced for endless weeks, never quite bringing herself to sing it.

She doesn't like being vulnerable, but it stopped being a choice.

She touches Brittany tenderly, affectionately, rediscovering new territory. Brittany welcomes every interaction and they fall back into their old patterns. She plays with Brittany's hair as they watch Disney movies together and have ice cream when she's sad. She takes Brittany to meetings with Professor Figgins to go through the students' demands. She takes Brittany to parties hoping to take her mind off Artie.

She has sex with Brittany. It's like coming home.

Everything fits again. But there's nothing being said; it terrifies her. She fears they are not making progress, but going back to old, corrupted patterns. She can't have that. She can't take the risk of ruining her second chance, the opportunity she never thought she would have.

It takes her some time, but she gets there in a warm night at Breadstix. It's supposed to be casual; they are both in their uniforms and there has been no pressure to call it a date.

Santana wants it to be a date.

She asks. She's so nervous her hands are shaking under the table, because she honestly can't predict the answer. Brittany chose someone else before; why would she pick Santana now? Their relationship was a relationship long before they talked about it.

She's not good at talking about feelings, at all. Brittany is. Santana can't help but smile in relief when Brittany tells her she ordered shrimp because she thought Santana was paying.

Of course Santana is paying. She holds Brittany's hand.

* * *

She ends up enjoying Glee more than she should. Brittany is there and they hold hands like a real couple, like the couple they are trying to be. She can dance with Brittany, sing with Brittany, unafraid of what other people might say.

And she knows how Brittany looks at her when she sings. She sees Brittany biting her lip when she runs her hands over the microphone stand, when she dances in a particular number, when she smiles at the crowd.

The way Brittany presses her against a bathroom stall and assaults her neck says enough. Santana can't hold back a smug smile, nails sinking into Brittany's skin, pulling her closer, urging for more.

* * *

People somehow learn that the four of them had gone to Indianapolis for the regional circuit and they become legends. Santana is at the top of her game. She holds Brittany's hands fearlessly, puts an arm around her waist as they mingle and shut down every male invitation for a threesome. Brittany kisses her good luck with an actual kiss, mouth on hers, hugging tightly and smiling.

There is no possible defeat after that.

She gets in the car and her opponent never stands a chance. She owns a Mustang and she's a devil in the making; the lead is immediately hers. After having faced a bigger scene, their small underground scheme feels almost too easy. She turns on her stereo to listen to some classic rock. She's always at her best when her favorite music is playing.

She cuts him off so he has to get on the sidewalk to avoid hitting her and damaging both of their cars, and she keeps him there until he almost hits a street lamp. She plays a mean game. She's always in front of him, close enough for it be dangerous.

She smiles as they grow more distant, moving her head to the music. She doesn't like his insinuations about women and she doesn't like his insinuations about Brittany. This might teach him a lesson about boasting without the proper skill and underestimating girls. Santana Lopez is not one to be looked down upon.

Hell hath no fury like a Lopez scorned.

She breaks her own record and exactly fifteen guys and two girls offer to buy her a drink to celebrate. She smiles as she turns them down. She has a girlfriend now, and no interest in celebrating with anyone other than her best friends.

Everyone else can just fuck off.

**End of Part I**


End file.
